I have full confidence in myself and my abilities as a . . . driver.
The words play through his mind.
Then, as if something in a bad dream, the motorcycle blazed past the taxi and pulled up alongside the van. The motorcycle kept pace with them and the huge scary biker reached over and pounded on the door.
Did that just happen?
That only happened in movies, didn’t it? Not in real life!
“Open up!” The biker’s voice roared as loud as his engine. “We need to talk!”
Fear made every inch of Marco’s skin feel on fire. This was worse, far worse than Halloween!
Marco released the scream he held within. He always did have an unusual fear of bikers. The scream filled the space.
The kids started screaming next. “Ahh, ahh, ahh, ahh!”
And then a clarity came to him. A feeling that his actions would—could—change everything. This was his moment. This was his time to stand up to his fears. Nothing had gone as planned tonight, and maybe it was for a reason. Maybe he needed to show his boys what a real man looked like!
Marco rolled down the window and reached for something to throw. His hand landed on a sippy cup. A full sippy. A deadly weapon to be certain . . . or at least something to slow down the biker. With his jaw set, Marco held the steering wheel with one hand, and threw the sippy cup at the biker.
“You wanna piece a me?” he yelled. “You wanna piece a me! Say hello to my sippy cup, baby!”
The cup hit the biker.
Nailed him!
The biker swerved.
Marco reached for another. Then another, from the cup holder on the center console. The biker swerved to miss them, and Marco was sure the bike was going down.
Kevin’s scream echoed from his ears, and his own screams joined in. Hitting the gas harder, the van pulled ahead of the biker. And then, like a demon slipping into the night, the biker peeled away.
Marco felt . . . amazing! He couldn’t help but smile. He waited, expecting the police car to follow the biker, but instead from the rearview window he spotted the form of a person hanging from the taxi’s window waving. The cop pulled alongside the taxi, but instead of pulling it over, it continued around . . . after him!
“Get me off of this crazy train!” Kevin shouted right into Marco’s ear.
“Everyone just hold on!” Marco shouted. Then, with every ounce of strength in him, he jerked the van, hard right. The van whipped around the corner, the backend fishtailing.
Behind him the chopper was still nowhere to be seen. And then he heard the sound of the cop car screeching through the intersection.
He’d done it! As he continued on down the road Marco realized he’d done it. He’d evaded them all!
Victory!
The word pulsed through his mind.
Finally free!
***
Allyson’s body hung out the side window of the cab. The cold wind blasted her face, and she motioned to the trooper.
She waved her arm, pointing ahead of her. Her hair flew back behind her, and her words seemed to fly back and hit her too. “That’s my van! That’s my van!” she screamed.
If she ever was going to have a mommy moment, she was going to have it with the van thief. She knew her van. It had never had that much pep before. Whoever was behind the wheel had to be professionally trained. Her breaths came harder and faster. They had to get that van!
The cop motioned for her to get inside the cab, and then he zoomed ahead of them.
Allyson pulled her body into the cab. Ahead, the van screeched around the corner, trying to evade them, and the cop car slammed on his brakes. Smoke rose up from its back tires, yet the cab didn’t slow. The cab was headed straight for the back of the police car!
“I don’t want to DIE!” she screamed, the words ripped at her throat as they escaped. Sean’s face flashed in her mind. Then the kids’ faces—Brandon, Bailey, Beck. No, she didn’t want to die like this.
She reached over for the steering wheel, trying to get the cabbie to swerve to the sidewalk on their side. He pulled against her, trying to swerve into ongoing traffic.
No!
His grip overpowered hers, and the cab jerked into the oncoming lane.
They slid past the cop car on their left and straight toward an oncoming car. She screamed again, and the screams of her friends filled her ears. They can’t die either. What would happen to their kids? All of their kids.
The oncoming car slammed on its brakes and fishtailed, just missing them by inches. The children . . . all she could think about was their children who needed their mothers.
The cab swerved to the left, and cars flew by on their right, one, two, three. Their headlights strobed by like disco lights, and Allyson thought she was going to be sick. Then, seeing more cars ahead, the cab swerved onto the sidewalk.
Tires hit the sidewalk and a loud explosion erupted.
Their cab flew toward a trash pile and hit. Trash flew everywhere, like a pinata being split open. Cans, bottles, milk cartons, cereal boxes flew up and splattered over the top of the car.
Her body flew forward, and Allyson braced herself. From the corner of her eye she saw Cabbie’s head jerking forward, and then it hit the steering wheel with a smash.
They were stuck . . . stuck here in this pile of trash.
Cabbie reached forward and turned off the engine.
Then, as if the world around them had just been muted, all the noise around them stopped. There was no roaring of motorcycle, blaring of siren, or screeching of tires.
Allyson looked to the cabbie, who now held his nose. And she was certain she saw more blood.
“That’s gonna smart,” he mumbled.
Her eyes darted to the women in the backseat, and thankfulness flooded her heart. They were alive, unhurt! Their hair was tousled, and they looked like they were in a waking coma, but no one appeared injured.
Sondra looked to Bridget and then to Izzy. Izzy checked them out too.
Their wide eyes displayed their fear, and Allyson didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. They’d found her van. They’d found her van! She just hoped that the trooper was able to catch the thief . . . and make him pay for this night!
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Marco looked back over his shoulder. A huge grin filled his face, and then he felt it fall. He expected to be free of his pursuers. Instead, he spotted the police car once again following him. Gaining fast. Sirens still blaring.
“Why are you still following me? Why are you still following me? Why are you still following me?!” He did the only thing he knew to do and pulled over to the side.
Marco’s heartbeat jumped as he watched in the side mirror. Slowly, tentatively the trooper stepped from his car and paused behind his door, as if for protection.
Marco rolled down his window and leaned out. “Good evening, officer.”
“Put your hands out the window!”
Marco jumped in his seat, sure the trooper was mistaken. Wasn’t it that motorcycle driver—or that cab—who the cop had been after?
Marco stretched both hands out, unable to hide their shaking. “Now exit the vehicle slowly.” The trooper’s voice was low, firm through his loud speaker.
The trooper’s spotlights were on him, and his lights continued to flash, yet the trooper didn’t move from behind the door. Marco could see the man’s hand on his gun and he told himself not to faint. This was all a misunderstanding.
Marco climbed from the van. “Did you get that biker back there?” He pointed down the road and moved toward the police officer.
“Stay where you are, sir,” his voice was sharp. The officer’s flashlight shone on him, and his hand was still on his gun. Surely, the man didn’t understand; it was the other guys he was after. Marco knew he had to explain.
Marco took another step forward.
“Stop where you are!”
Marco froze in his steps. He stretched his hands out in front of him, straight out, putting his hands in full view.
“Back up three paces and turn around to face the light!”
Marco turned forward, and then realized that there were more red lights behind him. He turned back around.
“Turn around, toward the light!” the officer shouted.
Marco pointed to the streetlight. “That light?”
“To the other light. Turn and face the light!” The trooper’s tone was sharp, direct. “Now get down on your knees now! Put your hands behind your head.”
Marco did what he was told. He sunk to the ground. The gravel on the road poked through his jeans, biting at his skin, sinking in.
The trooper approached. His flashlight cast a spotlight around Marco. The cold of the night bit at his skin, but the goose bumps that rose were from fear. Fear!
The trooper cleared his throat. “Sir, is this your vehicle?”
“No sir.” Marco didn’t understand. What was happening? He glanced over his shoulder.
“Stay right there!” the trooper barked.
“Okay!” Marco turned back around, and put his hands back on his head.
“Have you been drinking?”
“No sir,” he answered flabbergasted.
“Is there someone else in this vehicle?”
“Yes!”
“Stay where you are.”
Marco didn’t move. He heard the door open, and then the screeching of the kids. “Ah! Hi! Hello!”
Marco followed the officer’s gaze, into the van. Some of the kids had gotten out of their car seats and were piled on top of Kevin.
“Sir, is this your vehicle?” the trooper asked Kevin.
“No, sir!” Bailey answered for him.
“Thank you, my dear.”
“Is this your Daddy?” He pointed the flashlight to Marco.
“No, sir!” Brandon called.
He shined the flashlight onto Kevin. “Is that your daddy?”
“No!” Sean’s kids called again, with Bailey being the loudest.
“Who’s your daddy?” the officer asked.
“He’s in the hospital!” one of the kids answered.
“What’s going on here?” the officer asked.
“He’s taking us to his house where we don’t want to go,” Bailey piped up.
“Where you don’t want to go.” The officer jumped back slightly. “That’s very bad. What else should I know?”
“He killed their Mama!” Bailey called out.
“He what?” The officer’s voice raised an octave.
Marco knew how bad this sounded. He couldn’t just sit there and listen. “I can explain!”
Marco jumped to his feet and turned. “You see, Mama’s the name of the bird.”
It’s then he saw it. The trooper’s gun drawn and pointed at him—right toward his heart.
Marco reached his hands toward the man. Why wasn’t he listening? Why wasn’t he trying to understand?
“Down on your knees now. Face down. Face down!” the trooper’s words split the air.
“No, don’t shoot!” Marco dropped to his knees. His hands stretched out as if they could shield him. He felt light-headed all of a sudden. Dizzy. “Don’t shoot!” he cried again.
The trooper’s shouts intensified. “Dispatch, I need backup now!” The trooper called over his radio. “Ten units now.”
Marco hit the ground, splaying his arms and legs out as far as he could reach them. The road smelled of asphalt and gasoline, and he thought he was going to be sick. “I’m down. I’m down. I’m down!”
Even without seeing it, Marco could feel the trooper’s gun pointed at the back of his head.
And then a single voice broke through the drama, as clear and controlled as can be. Kevin’s voice. “Guess what, kids? We’re all going to jail.”
“Oh man, I hate jail!” Bailey called out.
“Me too.” Marco wept into the asphalt. “Me too . . .”
“We got a felon!” the trooper shouted, and Marco wondered if he’d ever be able to survive the big house.
***
Allyson stood beside the taxi with trash strewn by her feet. This is what her night felt like. Like a crash. Like a dump heap. She still had no way to get a hold of Sean. They still hadn’t found Phoenix. Surely things couldn’t get worse, right?
On the other side of the cab, Sondra did her best to bandage up the cabbie’s nose. After hitting the steering wheel it was bleeding even more, and she wondered if it was possible to add a “pain and suffering” tax to a cab fare. Izzy tried to help Sondra, dabbing Cabbie’s face with her baby wipes.
Bridget stood beside her, quivering in her tennis shoes. Allyson wanted to reassure her, but no words came. Every time she’d thought they were close to finding Phoenix they’d come to a dead end. Or in this case, a trash pile.
Then, in the distance, she heard the roaring noise of a motorcycle’s engine breaking through the night. She jumped slightly, not with fear, but expectation. Sure enough a few seconds later Bones pulled up, parking his motorcycle beside them.
“What happened?” Allyson called to him. She hoped he had good news. What she needed—really needed—was good news.
Bones glanced over to them. “Sorry for the flight mechanism, ladies. I lose control when I see them flashin’ lights.” He offered a sheepish smile. “I have a checkered past.”
Allyson spread her arms wide and took a step forward, “Okay, what—what about my van?”
“Quite a mess up there.” Bones turned and looked over his shoulder. “Got as close as I could. Hauling the criminals off now.” He removed his helmet and placed it on the handlebars. “It seems it was stolen by a mentally unstable man with some kids, and some other dude. The first dude was Hispanic . . . I think . . . I’m sorry if that sounded racist.”
“Marco!” Izzy’s voice split the air. She raced around the cab toward Bones.
She looked from Bones to Allyson.
Allyson was trying to process it all. Could that really have been Marco, driving like a wild man . . . with their kids in the car? Tension tightened her gut.
Allyson looked to Izzy. “Why is Marco driving my van?”
Instead of answering, Izzy’s eyes grew wide. “Where are my kids?” Izzy looked from Allyson to Sondra, and back to Ally again. “What if they’re in jail?
Bones stretched out a hand toward her, trying to reassure her. “I don’t think they can book a baby,” Bones said calmly. “I could be wrong, but I don’t think they can.”
Their British cab driver dipped his head, as if in defeat. And Allyson approached him.
“To the police station?”